


Sun, Bring Me Home

by Kawaiibooker



Series: Sun [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Horses, M/M, farming, i don't make the rules, old mccree had a farm..., yes that was entirely necessary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7696087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCree half-asses nothing.</p><p>Which is why he has a farm. With horses. Like a real cowboy.</p><p>Which is why, when the opportunity arises, he takes Hanzo there for some much needed R&R.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I made a playlist for this fic [here](http://8tracks.com/kawaiibooker/sun-bring-me-home).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by candeloro.

Gravel crunches underneath metal boots, kicking up dust with every step taken on the bone-dry ground. The sun beats down relentlessly, air curling visibly. “Jus' a lil' bit further”, comes from the man walking a few paces ahead, spurs jingling. He knows what he's doing, the path he's following so overgrown it's barely visible at all. Forgotten by all except one.

Sweat trickles down Hanzo's temple, his kyūdō-gi sticking to his skin. He's not used to this kind of dry heat but he walks on regardless, acknowledging what has been said with a soft “Hm.” They climb the steep hill steadily, both panting lightly by the time they reach the top and the rocky crest gives way to a valley underneath. The smooth tones of beige and red are only interrupted by an array of green blotches indicating sparse vegetation, the only kind that survives in this type of climate–

The view is nothing short of breathtaking. Hanzo shields his eyes from the glaring sun to take it in a little while longer. On second glance, he makes out the red-tiled roof of a ranch nestling close to the cliffside, surrounded by fenced pastures. Beside him, McCree dusts off his hat against his leg. He makes a sweeping gesture with it.

"So, what d'ya think?”

Hanzo nods once. “It is... most impressive”, he says, answering McCree's broad grin with a small smile of his own. The warmth in his voice is reserved for McCree only and he doesn't bother to hide it. Those times are long past.

There's a happy glint in his partner's eyes. He knows, too. “N'aw stop it, yer makin' me blush... Wait 'til we get there, I'll show ya 'round. First things first, though.” He pats the pouch at his side, producing one of his cigars. Cut the end, light it evenly, blow the embers – McCree goes through the routine with ease. Hanzo, in turn, breathes a fond huff, declining the offer to take a drag as he always does. McCree simply shrugs and smokes on, his face losing some of the tension from a long, smoke-free flight with every exhale. Feeling a little sore himself, Hanzo steps closer to lean against McCree's shoulder, head pillowed comfortably on his serape.

“Tired?”

“Mmhm.” He sighs, nuzzles the soft fabric that smells like McCree. Gun powder and smoke. A hint of coffee.

McCree presses a light kiss against his hair. “Not long now, darlin'. My bed's got yer name on it, promise.”

 _Both our names_ , Hanzo thinks. He dozes while the other finishes his smoke, eventually clipping the cigar and storing it for later use. A gentle nudge of his shoulder tells him they're ready to go.

“Home stretch”, McCree announces as he takes the lead, gaze locked on the ranch a short distance away. Shaking off his sleepiness, Hanzo follows.

_Soon._

*

The tour ends at the front porch, the kind that goes all around, wood railing and everything. The house itself is built on the bottom slope of the cliff, on higher ground to permit a complete view over the land. Inside, there's a bedroom with an attached bathroom as well as one larger room – the centerpiece of the house. It contains everything else: an authentic country-house kitchen, a bulky table with mismatched, equally stocky chairs, a few sofas and a TV placed in the corner like an afterthought. There's an attic upstairs – “ain't been there myself, I gotta admit”, McCree muttered, scratching his beard–

“...An' that's pretty much it. Small but mighty, Mamá would say.”

As far as farms go, McCree's is indeed on the smaller side: besides the house there's only one significant building – containing farm equipment and “some friends I gotta introduce t'ya later”, McCree said, “when yer not asleep on yer feet” – on a property a few acres big. Most of it is divided into paddocks of different sizes and uses, judging by the varying colors of the ground. Hanzo has to admit he knows nothing of farming, or ranching, or whatever equivalent is applicable in this case and yet it all leaves him intrigued if a bit overwhelmed.

A sense of excitement registers in his jetlagged mind, a hunger for knowledge he hasn't felt in a while. This is all a part of who McCree is, however distant from his everyday reality it has become. A part of him Hanzo hasn't seen in their years together – until today.

“I know it's, ah, seen better days. I told Hérman – my friend, the one who takes care'a this place fer me, remember? I told ya 'bout him, yeah – I told'm we're comin' but he's only one guy an'–“

McCree nods to himself while he talks, eyes flitting over to Hanzo before he looks down and away. He shifts his weight with a click of his spurs, busying his hands with the tattered seam of his serape and still he hasn't stopped talking, starting to stumble over his words–

“– he takes good care'a the boys, now that's fer sure, he's a natural really. Should'a done somethin' with it instead'a gettin' stuck with good ol' McCree here–“

Hanzo reaches out to still McCree's fingers before he can tear another hole into the fabric, squeezing his hand gently but firmly. “Your friend did a good job. I like it.” Simple words and yet they manage to pierce the worry radiating from McCree in waves, his shoulders slumping in relief.

“Yeah? Well, 'm mighty glad ta hear that.”

Seeing McCree this nervous over Hanzo's verdict on his home is endearing even if it's completely unfounded. Showing someone around for the first time always feels like revealing something more than the simple four walls one lives in, Hanzo knows although the occasion has rarely presented itself for him. The Shimadas hadn't exactly been the most welcoming of people to outsiders, after all. Pushing those thoughts away for later, Hanzo leans in to kiss him on the cheek, McCree's reward for the tour. Then:

“That bed you mentioned...”

McCree snaps to attention under his lips. “Oh, the nap! Jus' follow me, one bed comin' right up!”

Hanzo chuckles, shaking his head fondly. He doesn't let go of McCree's hand all the way to his room. A closer inspection of it is secondary, he decides, bypassing their luggage thrown haphazardly on the floor and pulling McCree on the bed with him.

As it turns out, Hanzo still has some energy left to spend before the promised nap.

*

Waking up to an all too familiar wood-panelled ceiling is like a slap to the face. Normally one to doze for a few minutes until his brain is online and ready to deal with the day, Jesse is instantly wide awake – questions of _Why am I home?_ , _How did I get here?_ and for one breathless moment, _Did I dream the whole thing?_ evaporate when he looks down and sees black hair spilling over heavily tattooed, pale skin. Lines and colors he would recognize anywhere, anytime.

_Hanzo._

He's still fast asleep, draped artfully over Jesse's chest, severe features soft, unburdened by his waking thoughts. It's a sight that strikes Jesse down to his very essence, every time – the amount of trust it took to get Hanzo there, slumbering peacefully in his arms, is something he rarely forgets. Not when everything the man does in his presence is positively cheerful and unguarded compared to how he used to be.

Cold. Controlled. Distrustful.

Heartbreakingly lonely. That one counts for both of them.

Overwatch changed all that, changed _them_. A rag-tag team of lost causes and half-forgotten dreams turned family by one common goal – save the world once again, however impossible it sounds. Fighting side-by-side means sharing space and swapping stories, it means keeping each other grounded and in the moment. Brothers and sisters in arms, whatever happens.

Stumbling over a second family was more than Jesse ever expected when he accepted Reyes' offer - order, more like - to join Overwatch. He never expected to find love there, either. _La suerte es de quien la tiene_ , his mother used to say and if there's one constant in Jesse's life, it's the unlikely outcomes of his questionable decisions.

 _A fool's luck_ , Hanzo calls it. _How fitting._

Said man sighs in his sleep, shifting against Jesse until he's satisfied with the new position, expression smoothing out once more. _The flight must've taken a lot out of him_ , Jesse thinks, raising his hand from where it was wrapped around Hanzo's shoulders to comb through his hair. A private smile graces his lips at the way Hanzo presses into it slightly, fingers kneading Jesse's side, _like a cat. He sure has a cat's pride. And elegance, too._

Jesse pauses for just a second, eyes wandering over what he can see of his old room – the battered, half-shut blinds keeping out the afternoon sun, the faded tapestry, spotty with dust; his gaze falls on the top of his wardrobe featuring childish drawings and old pictures of his family, _I must've forgotten them here_ –

“Mmh, don't stop”, mumbles Hanzo, his words more felt than heard, breath brushing Jesse's chesthair. They startle Jesse out of his musings. He chuckles and resumes after a moment's hesitation, fingers gliding effortlessly through the silky strands. Hanzo relaxes again, lying motionless except for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the aimless patterns he draws on Jesse's skin, his fingertips miniscule points of pressure at his side.

Jesse twitches away from the touch when Hanzo hits a ticklish spot, suppressing an undignified noise. “Careful with the goods there, honey.” The flash of a smile – not the small, fond one from before but the sharp, teasing one that Jesse has learned to associate with swift losses at the shooting range, _the dragon has found a weakness_ – makes him groan, reaching for the offending hand on instinct to prevent the worst.

Hanzo laughs, low and rumbling. He lets himself be trapped, wiggling his fingers in Jesse's metal grip, completely undisturbed by his cold prosthetic. “Do not worry, I shall have mercy on you.” A pause. “For now.”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “ _That's_ reassurin'. Now I'm gonna have ta expect an ambush ev'ry wakin' moment. That's what I get fer wantin' ta spend some quality time with my darlin', goin' on a vacation like this–“

“Jesse?”

“–Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“No?”, he replies experimentally, tensing when Hanzo moves, quick and efficient like a rattlesnake waiting to strike–

A peck on the lips is not the retaliation he expects. Jesse blinks, his heart jumping in his chest not with fear but something else as he finds Hanzo's face just inches from his own, grey eyes boring into his own, brown ones. His gaze softens with emotion. “Do not fear. No such ambush will happen.” Hanzo kisses him again, no less chaste than the last time. Jesse melts all the same. “Do not speak of such foolish things.”

“I'll keep sayin' all kinda foolish things if it earns me kisses like that”, Jesse mumbles, drawing him closer by his shoulders. Going with the motion, Hanzo indulges him, meeting his eager lips easily.

All thoughts – of the past, of the future, anything – fly out Jesse's head then and there as he's kissed within an inch of his life by the man he loves.

For once, they can afford to let the world wait.

*

“Jack, Ennis – meet Hanzo. Han – the boys.”

McCree looks pleased with himself as he gestures between them with a graceful wave. Two pairs of dark eyes settle on Hanzo and for one ridiculous moment, he wants to reach out, offer a handshake. Instead he presents them with an apple each, placed squarely on his open palm. A blink and they're gone – disappeared between powerful jaws munching away happily, soon dripping with apple juice and saliva.

Some of it gets on Hanzo's clothes. He scrunches his nose; McCree laughs delightedly. “Told ya they'd like ya”, he says, patting one of them on the neck.

 _Of course they do. They're horses. Horses like apples._ Hanzo follows suit in silence, gingerly scratching behind a fuzzy ear. It's a rich black, much like the rest of the animal blinking at him with trusting eyes. “Greetings, Jack”, he mumbles, throwing a glance at McCree for confirmation.

He nods, “Yup, that's the one. Big ol' softy, he is.”

“Why did you name him after the soldier?”

“The sold–?“, McCree stops, frowns. Understanding dawns on his face. “No, no, it ain't because'a Morrison. Y'know, Jack Twist an' Ennis Del Mar?”

Hanzo's face remains blank.

“Like in– Ya know what, forget it. It fits 'em, though.”

A non-commital shrug from Hanzo. “If you say so.” He reaches for Ennis next–

“Ah, watch out, darlin'!” The warning comes at just the right moment to save Hanzo's fingers from ending up as a horse chewtoy. Hanzo pulls away, eyebrows rising at the quickly flattened ears and curled up nostrils.

“What was that about him liking me?”

McCree winces. “Ennis's a bit on the, uh, snappy side. Better leave'm to me...“

Hanzo considers the aggressive palomino, knowing better than to try touching him again. “What is his problem?”

“Was that way when I bought'm. Jus' who he is, I s'pose. He warms up t'ya after a while...” A long sigh. “Lemme guess: 'I choose you, angry horse'?” His impression of Hanzo's voice is near perfect, even if a trace of his Southern drawl remains.

Hanzo rolls his eyes. “I used that expression  _once._ ”

“Ya quoted Pokémon, Han”, McCree draws out the 'e', a painfully American pronounciation of the word. “Once is 'nough, believe me.”

“A joke to entertain Genji, nothing more”, he mumbles, sullenly picking at the bits of apple on his hakama.

“Oh, ya entertained him, alright. Fer a moment there I thought he was never gonna stop laughin'.” McCree shakes his head, no longer trying to fight the wide smile on his face. “Can't blame'm. Hanzo Shimada, a Pokémon fan – who would'a thought?”

“ _Regardless_ ”, Hanzo says, pointedly ignoring it – and the fact that McCree is right, “to answer your question: Yes. He is... a challenge. I like challenges.”

McCree snorts at that. “Ya can say _that_ again. I mean, suit yerself! Jack an' me are a good team, I don't mind ridin' him.”

A beat of silence. Hanzo cracks up at the grimace on his partner's face.

“Ya jus' had to go an' ruin it, didn'tcha? I'll never look at this horse the same ever again. Ev'ry time I called'm a good boy...” McCree shudders. “Yer a real menace, Hanzo. A real menace.”

Hanzo shrugs, still chuckling. “I can live with that.”

“God help me, of course ya can. C'mon now, let's get saddled up.”

*

It takes Hanzo the better part of an hour to get close to Ennis, much less be able to pet him without risking a nasty bite to whichever body part is closest.

Jesse is content to watch from outside the roundpen, shouting advice here and there but leaving them to their own devices otherwise. The other has been around horses before – the cautious way he reacts to the most subtle of cues from Ennis' body language makes that pretty clear. Still, Ennis is a tough nut to crack, as stubborn as Hanzo himself. A constant back and forth, only slowly yielding results.

“What d'ya think, Jack, hmm? Think yer buddy'll give up anytime soon?”, he mumbles, rubbing his soft nose affectionately. Jack nibbles on his fingers in response.

“Yeah, thought so, too.” Jesse crosses his arms on the wooden railing to rest his head on them. The sinking sun behind him dips everything in golden light, making Hanzo's skin glow and his hair shine where he stands beside Ennis, hand firmly placed on the horse's muscular shoulder. A tentative truce.

 _Beautiful_ , Jesse thinks. “We sure are lucky, ain't we?”

Jack snorts. Jesse takes that as a _yes_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Overwatch fandom! I have this fic planned out completely but it was getting kinda long so I decided to split it up. Also: Sorry if this has been done already, I tried to stay on top of all Mchanzo fics but there's so much being posted daily, I couldn't keep up (which is wonderful, of course!)
> 
> Fingerguns at y'all, thanks for reading c:


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by candeloro.

It's in the early morning hours that a place shows its true colors: When nobody is up yet and Hanzo is left to wander the halls quietly, passing room after room as ephemeral as a ghost.

The Shimada estate had been all polished wood and high ceilings, the disapproving faces of his ancestors staring down at him as he shuffled past their portraits, keeping his head down to evade their gazes. There he was never quite alone, always some servant or guard addressing him with a low _Shimada-sama_ , undeterred by his silence.

He had been a morning person even as a child, using the few extra minutes to seek out the shy cats roaming the garden. They were unsociable at best – Genji used to say they were a myth, some story Hanzo told him to make him envious. The truth was the younger Shimada was a little too erratic for the sensitive animals. Only for Hanzo did they come out of hiding.

They stopped doing that the day Genji died. A lot of things stopped that day.

Overwatch's HQ, in turn, felt… hectic at times. It lacked the timeless grace his childhood home had, its edges a lot rougher, held together by the sheer willpower of its members, most of all in the beginning. It was the chirping of crickets in the night and midsummer heat trapped between metal walls by day, slow-cooking them from the outside, bit by bit.

On his morning strolls, Hanzo often spotted unfinished projects and meals left in a hurry. Coffee mugs gone cold, forgotten between one moment and the next. The first time it happened to him – Hanzo found his green tea abandoned on the kitchen counter, a thin layer clouding its contents – he'd been torn between apprehension, _a Shimada is never forgetful, never thoughtless_ , and a warm, fuzzy feeling he didn't quite know what to do with.

It's a few minutes after sunrise. Hanzo pads down the hallway, near-silent on his bare feet; there's no need for the extra support nor the special grip his metal boots offer as there's virtually no risk of being attacked. With no missions to run, he doesn't have to stay armed at all times – even if his hand hovered over the knife he'd hide up his right sleeve, just in case. One glance at McCree's slack face, all snuggled up in both blankets, snoring away happily... and Hanzo left, gently closing the door behind him. The knife stayed behind.

His legs take him automatically to the kitchen. It has been stocked with the basic necessities, _by Hermán_ , Hanzo guesses, judging by the assortment of toast, coffee, rice, dried beans, cornmeal and spices. A quick check of the fridge yields a carton of eggs, butter and a jug of milk. Hanzo sighs. It's a carbon copy of McCree's emergency food plan, minus the take-away. And the whiskey.

Thankfully, he also finds a package of his favorite green tea placed on the counter, impossible to miss. A post-it sticks to its front:

_Gotcha covered!! - JM_

Hanzo stares at the note for a long second. There's a scribble beside the words he deciphers to be a badly-drawn figure with finger guns. Hanzo rethinks his plan to let McCree sleep in a while longer but... _Later_ , he decides. He'll thank him later.

Hunting down an electric kettle and a pot, Hanzo puts some water to boil, preparing his tea on autopilot. The routine is comfortable, familiar. Cup and pot in hand, Hanzo hesitates momentarily. Were he back in Gibraltar, he'd make his way to the range to commence his morning excercises. Some cardio, some muscle workout, some target practice – everything to keep his body fit and instincts sharp.

 _You're on vacation_ , a voice suspiciously like McCree's sounds in his head. Hanzo frowns. He's never been on a vacation before, not like this. _What does one do on such an occasion?_ Without McCree to guide him like he did the day before, Hanzo ponders his options. He settles for the front porch. There's a bench there, rickety-looking and ancient. It creaks under his weight; Hanzo relaxes gradually when it doesn't give and crosses his legs, tea cup carefully balanced on one knee.

Then there's nothing left to do but sip his tea and let the mind wander. Everything looks so much softer in the early morning light, the desert and its inhabitants on the verge of waking up. Taking this in, Hanzo slows his breaths, feeling his heart beat calmly in his chest. Tranquility. It is then that it strikes him: In this middle-of-nowhere, no-security-measures-whatsoever ranch, Hanzo feels safe, at ease even.

_Why?_

The thought is an idle one. Hanzo doesn't chase the answer, just circles around the question, looks at it from all sides. Is it the remoteness, being away from the hustle and bustle of Overwatch? _There's strength in numbers_ , he knows now. Combat is easier with allies to cover his back yet infinitely harder when it's your friends' lives on the line. He can't find it in himself to regret it, though. Not being alone anymore. Belonging somewhere.

Hanzo finishes his tea, heading inside once more. He washes his cup out of habit, setting it aside to dry. Seeing the post-it out the corner of his eye, he smiles – and reaches for the coffee.

*

_Where is Hanzo?_

Jesse is at his wit's end. He turned the house upside down looking for him and yet found no trace of Hanzo except one clean cup on the dish rack. His bow and quiver were still there as was his knife and if Jesse knows one thing for sure, it's that Hanzo never goes anywhere without at least some kind of weapon on him.

It's by the third round – Jesse senselessly stares at that one displaced cup as if it holds all answers in the universe – that he notices the note sticking on the coffee machine. He recognizes it instantly as the one he wrote just the night before, only with an addition in black under his own blue script:

_There is coffee._

The letters are exact, painfully geometrical... and adorned by a perfect rendition of the sunglass emoji. Jesse looks from the note to the steaming pot of coffee in the machine and back. He can't believe his eyes. _Those things are ancient_ , Jesse marvels, rubbing his thumb over the tiny black glasses. _Hanzo and emojis. You never stop learning._

A little more at ease – Hanzo obviously left on his own terms if he had time to make coffee – Jesse grabs a mug, _The worst kind of criminal is he who mugs other people's coffee_ it says in bold letters, and pours himself a generous amount. He'll continue searching once his blood has reached an appropriate caffeine level.

*

“ _There_ ya are!”

Hanzo isn't startled by the drawling voice, having heard McCree approach for a while now. He doesn't move from his crouched position except to place a finger against his lips, _shhh_ , and points at Jack who is dozing beside him. The horse isn't entirely unaware, Hanzo notices as a long ear flicks towards the noise. He stays put, though. Hanzo finds that fascinating.

McCree is obediently silent, now leaning against the gate, watching both of them. _He trusts you_ , he mouths when Hanzo looks up, giving him a thumbs up.

Hanzo smiles. _How was the coffee?_ He makes a drinking motion to clarify.

 _Perfect!_ McCree lies his hand over his heart, then blows him a kiss. Hanzo rolls his eyes, catching it nonetheless.

Jack starts to move with a grunt, stretching out his front legs before he heaves himself to a stand, shaking off the hay clinging to his fur. He turns to look at Hanzo expectantly, tugging at the folds of the grey yukata he's wearing – his second change of clothes since he hasn't washed his kyūdō-gi yet. “I have nothing”, he mumbles, wrapping the fabric tighter around himself.

Jack tries McCree next, nudging his shoulder with his nose. “Yer gettin' breakfast in a bit, campeón”, he says, pushing him away just enough to open the gate and let Hanzo out of the box. McCree leans in for a kiss. “Mornin', darlin'.”

“Good morning. I did not worry you, did I?”

“Nah”, McCree shrugs it off. Then he sighs. “Okay, a lil' bit. Couldn't find ya anywhere.”

Hanzo hums. “My apologies. I will leave a better note next time.”

“Thanks, hon.” McCree suddenly laughs. “Are ya gonna draw more'a them emojis, too?”

Hanzo sniffs, unfazed by McCree's teasing. “They are accurate. Reinhardt has rightly stated so.”

“Reinhardt is an old man, of course he'd like 'em. Yer tellin' me yer the same?”

“We can't both be children, Jesse.”

McCree gasps, mock-hurt. “Ouch!”

A loud noise from the opposing box interrupts their bickering. Ennis – who hadn't shown a single ounce of interest in Hanzo when he entered the barn, a fact he took a bit personal despite himself – glares at them, banging his hoof against his empty trough.

“Yeah, yeah, ya ol' grump, we're on it”, McCree grumbles back, motioning for Hanzo to follow him to the feed store. “Hungry horses, I tell ya.”

“It reminds me of someone.” Hanzo gives McCree some space as he starts compiling different kinds of grains and pellets.

“Who might that be, I wonder?” McCree pushes the first bucket into Hanzo's hands, nodding at the direction where Ennis is staring at them with laser focus, bad mood forgotten at the prospect of food. “He'll like ya faster if yer the one givin' the food.”

Hanzo opens his mouth to reply; McCree is quicker. “Counts fer horses an' cowboys, too.” He winks.

Hanzo drags the brim of his hat down, eliciting a stuttering “H-hey!” from the other. He walks past him, throwing over his shoulder:

“I am aware. How do you reckon I seduced you to begin with?”

*

“I used ta do that a lot.”

“Hmm?”

“Sittin' with the boys. Keepin' 'em company. Or the other way 'round, I s'pose.”

“How so?”

 _I was in a bad place and they were the only family I had left._ Jesse falls silent, turning the words over in his mind. Hanzo doesn't pressure him, simply reaches across the table to hold Jesse's hand and keeps eating with the other. His fork clinks against the plate, a quiet noise to dispell the silence.

Jesse looks down at his own half-eaten omelette, pushing it around a bit. The hunger he felt so strongly before has passed.

“After Zurich... It was jus' me, y'know? After everythin' was said an' done, people buried an' eulogies delivered. The feds were snoopin' 'round, puttin' their noses in business that ain't theirs. An' the team–”

Jesse sighs.

“It fell apart quickly after that. Blink of an eye an' we were back ta _before_ , all fightin' our own fights, doin' our own thing. With Deadlock gone I had nothin' ta call my own so I... got this.”

A sad smiles tugs at Jesse's lips and Hanzo tightens his grip, eyes flicking up to meet his partner's.

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-five? Somethin' like that. Bit of a blur, those times. The ranch needed some fixin', had ta get it ready fer the horses. Really took my mind off things.” Chuckling, Jesse gestures to the kitchen. "Tried not ta burn down the whole thing with my cookin' right after, y'know how it's like. Livin' alone all of a sudden – felt like a newborn pup, all helpless-like."

Hanzo nods, somber. "The realization how dependent one is on others is… quite jarring." A warm squeeze to Hanzo's hand chases away the distant look in his eyes. He tilts his head, lips curving into a half-smile. "That being said, I can attest to your cooking skills. They are indeed akin to those of an infant dog."

"Gee, thanks, partner", Jesse laughs. "Now don't go hatin' on cuisine à la McCree, it served it's purpose well 'nough. Kept myself alive fer years, thank ya kindly."

"I am in awe", says Hanzo drily. He points at Jesse's omelette with his fork. "Eat now. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Jesse salutes, "Yes, siree", and promptly shovels the rest of it in his mouth. Hanzo isn't phased by his messy way to eat, already picking up his plate and cutlery to put it in the sink.

On his way back, he does the same for Jesse's, pausing to kiss his temple. "This place... It's home, yes? Close to your heart. Thank you for sharing it with me."

Jesse hums, pressing into the gentle touch of Hanzo's lips. "My pleasure, Han. Yer the best person ta share it with." He follows him into the kitchen, stealing another quick peck before he turns around to–

"Jesse McCree."

Jesse freezes. _Damnit._ A strong tug to his plaid shirt pulls him back, then there's a dishrag in his hand. "Help me wash these."

Hanzo's stern glare leaves him with no way to refuse. Jesse resigns himself to his fate. _Better luck next time._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put down a tentative 3 chapters for this fic, let's see if I can actually keep it that short :3c


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed.
> 
> [Veggietrex](http://veggietrex.tumblr.com/), this one's for you c: Happy Birthday my friend!

“Han! Ya comin' or what?”

Hanzo and Ennis – readily saddled and snaffled – look up, finding McCree standing on the porch, arms loosely crossed in front of his ratty _Mr. Goodlookin' Is Cookin'_ apron. Nodding, Hanzo starts the process of taking everything off again, noting with no small measure of pride that Ennis is undisturbed by it, idly rubbing his front teeth on the iron bar he's bound to. It's a nasty habit, technically bad for the horse but not bad enough that Hanzo'd risk ruining their begrudging partnership for it. McCree has gone inside again. He doesn't need to know.

The heavy western-style equipment is quickly stored. Walking the now-familiar path to the house, Hanzo realizes its been a week already. One week it took him to build enough trust with Ennis that he doesn't risk life and limb being around him, enough to ride him, even, although he never strays far from the roundpen. Too shaky is their mutual acceptance still.

A mouth-watering smell makes Hanzo's nose twitch and his legs speed up, his stomach chiming in loudly. Hunger, previously a far thing on his mind, comes back full force; time passes so fast here, the mornings flying by between taking care of the horses and lazying around with McCree. Hanzo can't remember a time he's read or napped this much – or eaten, for that matter. It's a natural by-product of sharing everyday life with McCree.

Maybe it was the insult to his cooking but McCree has insisted to provide fresh lunch daily, presenting Hanzo with a wide array of dishes of suspiciously good quality. “Ain't a puppy no more”, is all the man had to say to that, sniffing disdainfully. “Stop copying me”, Hanzo had replied, nonetheless thanking him for the food with a kiss to his cheek.

Today's is sizzling away in the pan when he enters the kitchen. It's some sort of dumpling that looks and smells completely different than the ones Hanzo is used to, prompting a curious peek from him – until McCree's broad back blocks the view.

“Patience, Han.”

“I _am_ patient”, Hanzo grumbles and starts tapping with his foot.

McCree throws him a look, _No you're not_ , but doesn't add to it. Soon after, food is piled on two plates and they shuffle out to the living room to eat.

The dumplings are called empanadas. Hanzo silently adds them to the list of his favorite foods.

*

Their first ride out is entertaining, to say the least.

It's a beautiful day out, the immediate heat of noon come and past, a cloudless sky and gentle breeze remaining. Perfect conditions, really.

Yet it's difficult to tell who's more tense: Hanzo, his expression one of deep frown-y concentration; Ennis, neck curved and nostrils flared in an attempt to intimidate all involved; or Jesse, waiting for _something_ to happen like he's on a stakeout, moments away from either missing the target or blowing his cover. A little overdramatic, perhaps. The only thing Jesse knows is that he'd like some of the ease with which Jack strolls ahead, peacefully chewing on his bit, untroubled by it all.

Following the way out of the farm, they soon step off the asphalt and take a turn to one of the many dirt roads criss-crossing the plain, the clip clop of hooves muffled to dull thuds. Animals scurry in the patchy underbrush, rustling noisily but frequently enough that Ennis stops flinching from it nervously.

They don't talk much, not at first. Hanzo is too busy keeping an eye on his horse and his surroundings in turn, and Jesse... Well, he, too, is keeping an eye on something if his shameless staring at Hanzo in plain jeans and a button-down shirt can be called that. _His_ jeans and shirt, no less.

Jesse's not too possessive but he'd be lying to say it doesn't satisfy him a little, some animal part of his brain pleased by the sight. Totally worth the hour of convincing and pouting Jesse invested into it.

Hanzo refused the boots and hat, though. _Maybe tomorrow..._

As always when he's trying to distract himself, Jesse opens his mouth.

“Didn't know yer such a fine rider. 'm a lil' surprised here, I gotta admit.”

Hanzo hmms, lowering his reins after he made sure Ennis is calm for now. “There are plenty of skills to be learned until one is considered suitable to carry the Shimada legacy. Equitation is one of them... Or at least it was. I cannot speak for the present day, only for the past.” A long, pensive look – then Hanzo shrugs, brushes aside the weight on his shoulders more casually than Jesse has seen before.

“However, my favorite it was not.”

Jesse blinks at him in surprise. “Wha–“

“Let me explain”, Hanzo interrupts, not unkindly. “The purpose was to uphold a tradition. There is no space for this”, a vague gesture between them, to the horses, “in that. It was not relevant for us – for Genji and I, that is – to form a bond with what were considered to be tools, not sentient beings.”

A specific sort of silence settles between them, one Jesse knows well. In the beginning he used to joke around or change the subject, anything to dispell what he perceived to be awkwardness – now, he simply waits.

Hanzo shakes his head, then chuckles. “You know”, he leans down to pat Ennis' neck, “I see now why it is enjoyable. They are intelligent animals, if stubborn at times.”

Jesse cocks an eyebrow. “Do I need ta say it or...?”

“Please don't.”

“Ain't as stubborn as a certain _someone._ “

Hanzo groans. Loudly. “I regret agreeing to this more and more.”

Jesse snorts, “No ya don't.”

They ride on. Sighing, Jesse tillts his head back, letting the sun shine past the brim of his hat on his face. Whatever stress is left in him slowly uncoils, the soft breeze and rhythmic swing of Jack's steps carrying away any unnecessary thoughts – an effect similar to his cigars yet completely unique.

_I missed this._

“May I confess something?”

“Hmm?” Jesse glances at Hanzo, who is already looking at him, head tilted.

“I did not believe your entire”, he waves in Jesse's general direction, “thing, when we first met. I thought you were all show. What is it you say? 'All hat and no cattle'?”

“Yer callin' me a fake?”

Hanzo's face falls at his serious tone. “That is not–“

But Jesse laughs, shaking his head fondly. “Don't get yerself in a lather, hon, I'm jokin'. Thought I was some kinda Revolver Ocelot, huh? Fakin' it for the aesthetic?”

“...Who?”

“I really ought'a show ya the classics... But my point is, I'm through with hidin' my past. Y'know? Ain't no sense ta that. Ain't fair to the boys, either, like 'm ashamed'a them or somethin'.”

Leaning back, Jesse claps Jack's lower back, grinning when the horse's ears dance, awoken from his daydreams. “Nah, 'm proud'a who I am. Ain't always been that way but that's where I'm at right this instant.” He meets Hanzo's gaze again, softening his smile. “Got yerself a real cowboy, 'm afraid.”

Hanzo's eyes glint with teasing mirth. “A good choice.”

“Ol' charmer.”

Jesse sits up in his saddle, fixes his hat, picks up his reins. He nods at Hanzo. “Enough chit-chat. I wanna race ya, cowboy.”

“You _will_ lose.” Another long pause, heavy with meaning– “Cowboy.”

Jesse's grin is cocky as all hell.

“Now yer talkin'.”

*

The night sky stretches endlessly above them, made of more stars and constellations than each of them can name.

In times of ever-growing cities with screens and displays at every corner, Hanzo assumed it had been lost and yet there's something about McCree's farm and the desert night that seems to stop time altogether, conserving a way of life he never thought he'd enjoy this much.

Somewhere nearby a horse snorts. Grass stirs. Crickets chirp. Simple things that Hanzo knows he will miss once they return.

In the dim moonlight, McCree is but a shadow beside him, made solid by his steady breathing and the warmth he radiates akin to a small sun. _My sun_ , Hanzo thinks, huffing a laugh at his own ridiculousness. He shakes his head at McCree's prompting hum.

Rolling over, McCree throws his arm over Hanzo's waist, pillows his head on his chest. Hanzo expects him to probe further but what comes out is, “Yer my favorite pillow, Han.”

And he realizes: Nothing is ridiculous when you're together with Jesse McCree.

“I am honored”, Hanzo says at length, only half in jest. He pulls McCree's serape closer, draping it over them both before he relaxes again. “Although part of the credit goes to your shirt, I think. It is comfortable.”

“Heh, I _knew_ ya'd like it. Ain't workin' horses in silk after all.”

He doesn't need to see McCree's face to know he's smirking.

“Maybe.”

All of the sudden there's a loud sniffing noise; Hanzo reaches behind himself and, sure enough, brushes a curious nose nibbling at his hair. “Jack–?”

McCree shakes his head, his bearded cheek rasping against soft fabric. “Nah, 's Ennis. Look up.”

Hanzo does. A shape obscures the starry sky, darkness turning sand-colored fur to vague grey. Ennis' eyes shine a beady black. He blinks slowly as if calculating–

Before Hanzo can do anything about it, said nose lands on his face and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to move. Ennis nuzzles his chin, then his neck, stepping closer carefully to reach McCree and chew on his hair.

McCree is apparently used to it, shooing the horse away lazily, “Bud, kinda ruining a moment here”, and equally as casual does Ennis move on to the blades of grass growing beside them.

“He is an odd one”, Hanzo comments drily as he wipes his face with his sleeve.

“Means he accepts ya, 's all”, is the consolation McCree offers, trying – and failing – not to laugh. “Ya got a little grass there– Yup, got it. Yer beard, uh, gimme a sec–“

But Hanzo waves him away. “It is fine. I can survive a little horse spit.”

“Well... Welcome ta the family, darlin'.”

That gives Hanzo pause; he absent-mindedly smoothes the ruffled edges of his beard. He hears more than sees McCree sit up, feels his eyes on him, a warm tingle on his skin.

“Han?”

“...Hm?”

“Ya asked me a while back what's home, an' I said this place is. So I was wonderin'... What's it to ya? Home, I mean.”

Hanzo's gaze is fixed on the stars above while he thinks. A landscape made of beige, red and green. A cup of fresh tea, a post-it note. The taste of dust on his tongue, the smell of leather in the morning.

Somewhere in the back of his mind: _I could get used to this._

“I do not consider any place 'home' but...”

Hanzo takes a deep breath.

Gun powder and smoke. A hint of coffee.

He closes his eyes and smiles.

“I think I have found it nonetheless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, folks! I'm very sorry it took me so long to finish this one, inspiration is fickle and all that jazz. Please lemme know what you think c:
> 
> I'm over on [tumblr](http://kawaiibooker.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker), too.
> 
> (Also: It will surprise no one that "I ain't some kinda Revolver Ocelot" was the main inspiration to write this fic.)


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